


Remember

by vix_spes



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:07:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: In the last days of the War of the Ring and the first days of Aragorn's reign, Faramir struggles.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Empy (Empyreus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/gifts).



> Huge thanks to [Dunderklumpen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunderklumpen) for her help figuring out plot and for reading it over. Also massive thanks to [NurseDarry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/pseuds/NurseDarry) and [Small_Hobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit) for their beta-ing skills.

“Remember today, little brother.”

They had been Boromir’s last words to him before Boromir rode for Imladris – a task that should have been Faramir’s – leaving Faramir to assume Boromir’s mantle as Captain-General of Gondor.

How could Faramir forget them?

There hadn’t been time for fond farewells, for declarations of love, for shared embraces. They were in the ruins of Osgiliath, surrounded by hundreds of Gondorian soldiers and with their own father present. There was no time for Boromir to return to Minas Tirith, and as far as Denethor was concerned, it was clearly a foregone conclusion that Boromir would be representing Gondor at the council in Imladris, for he had brought saddlebags filled with Boromir’s things. So, Boromir would leave as he was, clad in his armour. Even so, much to the relief of both Boromir and Faramir, Damrod and Boromir’s second-in-command conspired to give them a few stolen moments together. It was scarcely time enough for one final, fierce embrace before they had to part.

Then again, it had ever been this way since Boromir was of age and had taken up the role of Captain-General. Invariably, they had spent more time apart than they spent together, especially once Faramir had assumed command of the Ithilien Rangers. These past months in Osgiliath had been the longest that they had been in each other’s presence for years. Ever since they had crossed the line not long after Faramir came of age, and became not just brothers but lovers as well, their whole relationship had been a series of clandestine meetings, furtive planning, and stolen moments. They had eagerly seized any opportunity that they could get as long as it didn’t happen to the detriment of their duties. They knew that they were expected to marry, to continue their family line, and they would do their duty. But they had never had any intention of giving each other up. The two brothers had ever been the one constant in each other’s lives, and marriage wasn’t going to change that.

There was one thing that could change things, however, and that was death.

Boromir had now gone where Faramir could not follow, although he had come close thanks to the arrow of a Black Númenórean, and then at the hands of his own father.

Just over a month had passed since Faramir had heard the Great Horn of Gondor echoing over the plains north of Ithilien, and hope had bloomed in his chest. It was the first that Denethor and Faramir had heard from Boromir since a letter sent at year’s end confirming that the dream Boromir and Faramir had shared was indeed prophetic. Isildur’s Bane had woken, a token had been found and Boromir had joined a quest led by a Halfling and Mithrandir to destroy the token. A token in the form of a ring.

There had been a lull in attacks from Mordor in the last few months and Faramir had hoped that this, combined with hearing the Horn, had been a sign that the quest had been successful, that Boromir had returned home to Gondor.

Returned home to Faramir.

That hope had evaporated a mere three days later, leaving nothing but emptiness and a sense of loss within Faramir. For, three days after he had heard the Horn of Gondor, Faramir had found Boromir’s body.

He had been keeping watch on the Western banks of Osgiliath when he had spotted a boat floating down the Anduin. He had approached it with no little caution, half-expecting to be ambushed the instant that he drew near. What he hadn’t expected was to find Boromir’s funeral boat. Boromir, looking peaceful in death, despite the arrow wounds that marred his body, his broken sword by his side. There was no sign of the horn that Faramir had heard. He couldn’t help but rage against the blood running through his veins. The Númenórean and Elven heritage that had bestowed these visions upon him but hadn’t deigned to show him this – the loss of his brother, of his lover - yet it had shown him the same dream of Isildur’s Bane three times. He couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse; he was more inclined to say it was the latter.

The other curse was that while the rest of Minas Tirith revelled in the destruction of Sauron and the defeat of Mordor, Faramir couldn’t find it within himself to celebrate with them. He had been unable to lead the Gondorian forces in the Battle of Morannon due to his own serious injuries, having to entrust his men to his uncle Imrahil instead and simply wait for news in the Houses of Healing. The news, when it came, was good but Faramir was consumed by ghosts and memories. While the citizens of Minas Tirith revelled, Faramir saw Boromir in every corner of the city.

In Merethrond, the King’s feasting hall, where Faramir could picture Boromir so clearly it was as though his brother were actually there. In the private library within the Tower of Ecthelion that Faramir had long ago claimed as his own and where Boromir constantly sought to distract Faramir from his studies. In the stables that had seen so many illicit farewells, the bawdy tavern on the second level that Boromir had always snuck away to so that he could join his men for an evening’s drinking and camaraderie. And in Rath Dínen leading to the Tomb of Kings where Boromir’s body lay, as was his right as son of the Steward, desecrated as it may be by Denethor’s actions.

“Remember today, little brother.”

No, remembering wasn’t going to be difficult. Not just that day in Osgiliath, but every day that he had had Boromir in his life.

In the end, memories were all that Faramir had left.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would prefer to comment on LJ, you can do so [here](http://vix-spes.livejournal.com/258848.html)


End file.
